“I knew not where I was; but the moon told me how to bend my steps to find the English camp again.  I, in truth, have escaped —­ have come to bring you word of his peril; but ah, I fear, I fear that we shall never see him more!  They will kill him —­ they will kill him!  He is in the hands of his deadliest foes!”

“If we know where he is, we can rescue him without delay!” cried Gaston, who was not a little perplexed at the peculiar nature of the adventure which had befallen his brother.

To be taken captive and carried off by one of the English knights (if indeed the Black Visor were a knight) was a most extraordinary thing to have happened.  Gaston, who knew little enough of his brother’s past history in detail, and had no idea that he had called down upon himself any particular enmity, was utterly at a loss to understand the story, nor was Roger in a condition to give any farther explanation.  He tottered as he stood, and Gaston ordered his servants to mount him upon one of their horses and bring him quietly along, whilst he himself turned and galloped back to the camp to prosecute inquiries there.

“Who is the Black Visor?” —­ that was the burden of his inquiries, and it was long before he could obtain an answer to this question.  The leaders of the expedition were full of their own plans and had little attention to bestow upon Gaston or his strange story.  The loss of a single private gentleman from amongst their muster was nothing to excite them, and their own position was giving them much more concern.  They had taken many prisoners.  They believed that they had done amply enough to raise the siege of St. Jean d’Angely (though in this they proved themselves mistaken), and they were anxious to get safely back to Bordeaux with their spoil before any misadventure befell them.

Gaston cared nothing now for the expedition; his heart was with his brother, his mind was full of anxious questioning.  Roger’s story plainly showed that Raymond was in hostile hands.  But the perplexity of the matter was that Gaston had no idea of the name or rank of his brother’s enemy and captor.

At last he came upon a good-natured knight who had been courteous to the brothers in old days.  He listened with interest to Gaston’s tale, and bid him wait a few minutes whilst he went to try to discover the name and rank of the Black Visor.  He was certain that he had heard it, though he could not recollect at a moment’s notice what he had heard.  He did not keep Gaston waiting long, but returned quickly to him.

“The Black Visor is one Peter Sanghurst of Basildene, a gentleman in favour with the King, and one likely to rise to high honour.  Men whisper that he has some golden secret which, if it be so, will make of him a great man one of these days.  It is he who has been in our company, always wearing his black visor.  Men say he is under some vow, and until the vow is accomplished no man may look upon his face.”